


Homesick

by Idreamofhazel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, like major fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 09:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamofhazel/pseuds/Idreamofhazel
Summary: Written for @jpadjackles 1k Celebration Challenge January 2017Prompt: Homesick by Louden SwainSummary: Sam and Dean are leaving for a case and you stay behind for a very important reason.





	1. Chapter 1

For the first time in years, Sam felt completely and wonderfully at ease. He had never been able to relax after he joined Dean and crisscrossed the country, hunting the earth’s most deadly creatures day and night. He had Dean to worry about, the potential victims, the fate of the world, and sometimes, himself. Then one day, unexpectedly, he had you. You came along, unannounced, but without guesswork, striking right through the noisy mess of Sam’s life and presenting to him a clear path. The relationship was never complicated, never messy, and always reliable.

At first, he did worry about you. It wasn’t normal, could-be-considered-healthy worrying, but that incessant and obsessive state of the mind where danger lurks at every corner, ready to pounce and take the one good thing he had. That state didn’t last for long, though. With a few good shots from your custom pistol and a few powerful slashes of your machete and some independently cracked cases, Sam knew that a woman who could hold her own had found him. He would no longer stifle your freedom and power once he realized that. He valued those things far too much in his own life to inhibit them in someone else’s, let alone in the woman he loved so dearly.

Most of the time, you and him and Dean were together, taking on case after case and winning most of them. Sometimes, you lost. Sometimes you paired up differently–you and Sam alone or you and Dean–and even rarer, you on your own. You didn’t decide to do that often, but if you did, Sam didn’t put up a fight. He had full confidence in you.

Today was sort of one of those times. He and Dean were on their own, just like they used to be. Dean was playing his outdated, but classic tunes and Sam was skimming over printouts from his laptop about the missing persons. Water sloshed up the side of the Impala from the recent rain and sunlight peeked through foggy skies, making Dean squint. He’d forgotten his sunglasses. Sam mostly thought of you while he read through the reports, resulting in him not retaining much of the information. He wasn’t fretting over the state of your safety, but rather, he was deep in thought over how much he missed you.

He imagined what you’d be doing right now. It was late enough in the morning that you’d probably be up, but not for long. You’d still be in the pajamas you wore the night before, having slowly shuffled across the cold floors to the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee and then shuffling back more happily to your room. There, you would sit and drink your coffee, enjoying the silence as you read or watched something on tv. You’d stayed behind because you were more tired than usual. It was probably nothing, but you hated getting sick, so you’d rather miss out on a hunt than exert too much energy at the moment.

Sam hoped you weren’t feeling worse this morning and he resolved to give you a call once they were in an area that had reception. Until then, he could only think of you. He was already anxious to be in your arms again, to feel the welcome of your embrace and of your kiss. He always missed you terribly when you were apart. It didn’t matter how long you’d been together, the ache to be with you again was always there. It wasn’t from nervousness or worry, but from the absence of your image gracing his eyes. Of course, he was always concerned for you. He never wanted anything to happen to you, and he did often wonder if all of you would be ok. Not in the short term sense of immediate danger and physical health, but the long term expanse of your relationship. He wondered if you were meant to be together always, if the circumstances of life would allow that, if something would wear at your relationship or at one or the other, or if you’d ever have to let each other go peacefully.

These worries didn’t overburden him. Rather, he focused on what he had now and his gratefulness for being able to hold you in his arms. He savored every moment with you and every touch he experienced. He was often too caught up in his confidence in you and his love for you to be concerned about the relationship. They were nagging things in the back of his mind, but never shouting that rose above everything else. The bottom line was that he could take care of himself and you could take care of yourself and together, you could more than take care of eachother.

While Sam was in the Impala contemplating these things, you were sitting in bed, just as he’d imagined, doing similar. Your thoughts were occupied with much different concerns, though. You didn’t read or watch tv or even get on your phone. You didn’t rummage through possible future cases or research something to help the boys. You didn’t mentally run through a list of things that needed to be done, like laundry or cleaning, and you didn’t think about making soup or running to the store for Sprite to help your nausea. Instead, you sat mostly still and completely silent, thinking of one thing and one thing only.

You hadn’t lied to Sam when you suggested that you stay home because you weren’t feeling well, but you didn’t venture to give him the whole truth yet. That’s what you considered now, sipping on your coffee, the whole truth and how to tell it to Sam. You wished he could be there now, with you, for support and to share the moment, but this was something you needed to check on your own. You needed to be certain before giving Sam any hope. Then you realized that you should actually take the test before worrying about how to best tell Sam, so that’s what you did.

After drinking your coffee, in the bathroom you tore open the small cardboard box, pulling out the plastic contraption and following the instructions very carefully in order to get an accurate reading. You understood that a doctor would be needed to verify, but doing it this way was personal and private. You and Sam were that way, usually quiet and private individuals who appreciated details shared at the right time. There was also the Winchester death records to consider when going to the hospital, but the main reason for doing it this way was preparation and time to feel and process. Sam would be gone five days at least. Two for travel and probably three to solve the case, which gave you plenty of preparation time.

In your thinking, you hadn’t noticed the two, parallel pink lines that had appeared. You sat, elbow on your thigh and chin in your hand, dangling the test over the side of your leg as you thought about the possible futures in all their infinite combinations while staring at the tile on the walls. Then you just happened to glance down, and once you saw them, you couldn’t stop looking down at them. Now you could rightfully be concerned about how to tell Sam.

Miles away, Sam saw civilization approaching, so he pulled out his phone and waited for a signal to appear. Dean teased him as usual, claiming that if Sam ever lost his phone, he’d die from lack of hearing your voice and not knowing what was happening to you. Dean had part of that right. Sam would be absolutely homesick without the ability to hear your voice while you were apart. He probably wouldn’t die, but he’d feel something close to it. You were that important to him, that near to his heart. In fact, you had gently and thoroughly lodged yourself inside his heart so that you were a part of him. He believed he had every excuse to feel estranged when he was away from a part of himself, so he didn’t pay attention to Dean. The city was getting closer and he watched for the bars to appear.

Back in the bunker, you watched to see if the lines would disappear, not because you didn’t want them there but because you wanted them there so badly that you were afraid they might suddenly fade away and dissolve, as if they were a dream. When you’d sat long enough and decided that the pink wasn’t fading, you walked back to your bedroom to do some more thinking. You set the test on the bedside table where you could gaze at it from afar, as if that would help you see the whole picture of things, and then you glanced down at your phone sitting on the bed where you left it, noticing a missed call from Sam.  

It would be hard, keeping the secret from him now, since you knew the truth and were excited to share it, but you had to wait. You would plan a better surprise for him and tell him the news when you could see the expression on his face and when he could hold you and lift you up in delight. You imagined that’s what his reaction would be at the announcement that the family was growing, that this bunker would become even more of a home to all of them. It would be worth every second of that experience to wait. So, you tucked those visions away for the moment and you picked up the phone. You pressed return call and waited with a smile on your face for your partner, your lover, and now, the father of your child, to answer.


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You weren’t able to spend Valentine’s day with Sam, but you both make up for it by getting each other the best gift.

Sam and Dean were gone for two more days than expected, causing Sam’s homesickness to grow exponentially and your anticipation to build excruciatingly. This was the hardest secret you’d ever had to keep. The urge to call Sam and release it, to hear the happiness in his voice while he shared it with Dean, was almost unbearable. What kept you from telling him over the phone was the desire to also see his reaction, not only hear it. **  
**

Their extended trip also put Sam’s returning date a day after Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s day was nothing to a hunter, really; only masochistic ones would put themselves through the pain of romance, celebrating the civilian holiday while omnipresent threats loomed over their heads. But you and Sam were different. You always did a little something for each other on this holiday, like a box of chocolates to share, but this year it seemed that nothing would happen. And it upset you, far more than you thought it would.

Your mood plummeted instantly when you received the text, throwing you into the pit of Valentine’s day despair usually reserved for forever-alone people. Hormones were most likely to blame and you found yourself wanting only to curl up under a blanket and listen to sappy love songs while single-handedly eating a tub of ice cream. So that’s exactly what you did. And that’s what you were doing when you got the first text, at ten thirty in the morning, from Sam.

“ _When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew._ ”

You grinned uncontrollably despite yourself, huddled under the covers, the phone screen lighting up your pity-party tent.

“ _Shakespeare, really? ;)_ ” you sent back.

“ _Only because it’s true. There’s more coming :)_ ”

You could do nothing but shake your head, your cheek muscles aching because of the size of your smile. There had been no real reason to doubt Sam. He always came through, able to find a way to make the best out of any situation, and now because of his messages, your mood lifted and you felt like getting out of bed.

Then he sent another message. “ _I also got you a little something. Hope you don’t mind_.”

“ _Of course I don’t. I can’t wait to see it. I got you something too._ ”

Sam had just created the perfect opportunity for you to share the big news with him. He would give you your gift, and then you could deliver yours in a message, as if it were a regular gift exchange. Your gift would blow him away, though. Even if he had somehow managed to fully participate in the commercialism of the holiday by getting you a piece of jewelry or a bouquet of roses, he would be the speechless one.

The best way to deliver the message would be through a card, so you went to the store, clad in sweatpants and a jacket, taking full advantage of your pregnant status. At the small convenience store in Lebanon, you went straight for the card section where you received another text.

“ _I still fall in love with you everyday._ ”

It was another cheesy love quote, but you didn’t mind. They were making your heart soar while you looked for the right card. You needed something sweet, but simple, with some blank space to write in your personal message.

Choosing a card was difficult. You had forgotten how droning it could be to look over so many cards of varying colors and designs, all with similar messages tweaked for so-called variety. Maybe this was a wash. Maybe you were better off buying construction paper and making your own like a twelve year old girl.

“Last minute shopping?” asked a woman who suddenly appeared beside you, her eyes roaming more over the cards than looking at you. She wore a warm smile and matching sweater, forest green and knitted.

“Yeah, just searching for the right one,” you trailed off, returning your attention back to the cards.

“I used to consider myself somewhat of a card expert,” she continued, “I used to make them myself. You have something particular in mind?”

Her readiness to open up to you and help caught you off guard at first, until you gave her the hunter’s once over and realized she was as civilian as civilian could be. It wouldn’t hurt to have some help, so you took her up on the offer.

“Well, I have some news to deliver with the card.” You patted your stomach and her face lit up as she caught on.

“Oh congratulations!” she beamed, then hummed and tapped her chin while she searched the cards. “How about this one?”

She picked a card out of the plastic slots and held it out as your phone buzzed again.  _There’s a million things I could say to you…_  the outside of the card read.

“ _This one’s all me. I can’t wait to see you again. I’m counting down the hours, honestly. I miss you so much when we’re apart. I’ve never felt this way before. You’re special, not just to me. You’re amazing. I can’t even describe it. I can only say I love you.”_

_“P.S. Dean yelled at me because I took forever to type that message. ;)_ ”

When you finished reading Sam’s most recent text, you cried uncontrollably, right in the middle of the card aisle. It didn’t matter that you wanted to stop. You couldn’t.

The helpful woman was alarmed, rightfully so, and moved to comfort you. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

You wiped your runny nose with your sleeve, beautifully and with all the grace expected of a woman in your state. “Y-yes, I’m fine, I just, he sent me a text and the card, he’s been sending me messages since he’s gone. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Oh, honey, here.” She dug inside her purse until she found some tissues, which she shoved into your hand. “It’s the hormones. Don’t worry, it’s totally normal. Does the card work?”

You opened it up.  _But only one that says it all perfectly. I love you. Always._  You began nodding quickly.

“I thought you could, you know, add it in there.”

“Yeah, the message, yeah. It’s perfect.” You sniffled and patted your eyes dry with one of the tissues. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome. I hope he loves it!”

A few hundred miles away, Sam was still sitting in a motel room with Dean, pouring all of his attention into his notes, lest Dean yell at him again. He awaited the reply to his latest message, to see if you were tired of the cliche gestures yet, but it didn’t appear as if you were. His phone went off and he quickly read your response.

“ _I bet he did. But he’s just going to have to deal with it. I love you too Sam, more than anything. Come home quickly <3_”

If only you knew how quickly he wanted to come home. His gift was waiting, tucked discreetly into the corner of his duffle, wrapped professionally by an employee at the store. He was nervous to give it to you. It was unconventional, to say the least, and he wondered if it would be too much. But he had already bought it, it was something that was important to him, and he believed it to be important to you, too. It would be the culmination of your combined love; a symbol and a gesture that said,  _this is it,_  that decided to forget about the worries and concerns of the future. It was about time, Sam thought, to throw a bit of caution to the wind and make something of this love you had for each other. So that’s why he didn’t return the gift, instead concerning himself with how to give it to you.

Back at the bunker, you sat at a library table, pen in hand, tapping it rapidly as you stared at the inside of the card. Under the printed message was plenty of blank space. You could write a paragraph, or keep it simple with only a sentence. There were so many ways to say it, some of them cute, some of them lame–so lame you scrunched your nose at yourself, wondering where in the world those ideas came from. The answer was hormones. You blamed it all on the hormones until you finally grew tired of stressing and instead, began writing what came to mind.

_Actually, there’s one more thing I can say, one more thing I can add to this card, because one more thing is being added to this family._

You didn’t add anything more, except a heart. Sam was smart. He would catch on.

Sam had at least twenty-four more hours until he was home, back at the bunker and with you. He and Dean were staking out a home, waiting for the creature to appear. He was terribly distracted, playing out different scenarios of the gift-giving moment in his head, some of them where you were elated, some where you were unsure, and some where he had to explain the gift. Those were the worst scenarios, but he knew you were smart. You would know what the present meant as soon as you opened it. He was getting hung up on the other negative scenarios, though, so much so that Dean had to wave his hands in front of Sam’s face and repeat a question. He needed to focus. He could worry about these scenes on the way home.

Fast forward through those twenty-four hours, through your equally-obsessive planning on how to deliver the card, through another mood swing, and through an unexpected mad dash of cleaning, you got a text from Sam that said they were an hour out. You grabbed dinner and the card, placing them both on the war room table. Then you sat down, right where Sam could see you as he walked in. Or maybe you should be in your room, so it wasn’t so obvious. Or maybe the kitchen, like you had been busy with dinner. Or maybe it didn’t matter and you should stop worrying about it and just wait. Ten more minutes.

Panic started to set in during the silence; all of the reasons why this wouldn’t work popping up out of nowhere and cramming your imagination with horrible visions, visions of Sam becoming upset, of Dean agreeing that it wouldn’t work. Of you having to leave, raising this baby on your own.

Just then you heard the creaking of the metal door opening and footsteps on the metal staircase, the sound of Sam and Dean’s voices carrying over their stomps. You chest rose and fell with one deep breath and then you got up from the chair, looking up as the descended the stairs. They looked good, not too beat up, thankfully. This had been an easy case for them.

“Hey,” Dean said, giving you a quick hug before walking towards the hall, “I’m forbidding you from staying behind again. Lover boy here was a huge sap the whole time.”

You smiled, not being able to say anything while Dean walked to his room. Then you laid eyes on Sam. He was happy to see you, but there was nervousness under the surface. He dropped his bags on the floor and set a small square box on the war room table. Your eyes followed it, wondering what was inside.

“I wasn’t that bad, really,” he said, stepping towards you and pulling you into a hug.

“Never,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“How are you? Were you sick?” He pulled back and looked you over.

“No, I guess I just needed the extra rest. So, when do I get to see what’s in that box?”

He uncharacteristically began fumbling with anxiety, his gaze falling to his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, any time I guess. But, do, do you want to go first?”

You laughed nervously in turn, shaking your head. “No, I think you should go first.”

“Ok.” He spun around too quickly, grabbing the box and almost shoving it at you, using an unneeded amount of force in his actions. You could see a bit of sweat on his brow and his smile was strained. The box was far too big to be an engagement ring. You ruled out a proposal, so you had no idea what could be inside. You began tugging at the red ribbon tied around the box, perfectly like you saw in movies, done up nicely in a shop. “It’s a little different. You can be honest about it,” he added, an almost undetectable shake in his voice.

You ignored his comments, knowing how self-doubting he could be. Whatever it was, you were sure to love it. He never went wrong with gifts, or with anything really. The ribbon untied easily and you let it fall to the floor as you pulled open the top and gasped. Inside laid a neatly folded flannel shirt, tiny, definitely made for a baby, and a pair of the smallest boots you had ever seen, sitting right on top. All you could do was cry, with happiness and with love, because without even knowing, Sam had been desiring the exact thing you were about to give him.

“I, it’s ok if you don’t like it,” Sam began, but you couldn’t find the words to stop him yet, “I’ve been meaning to, you know, talk about this with you, but then I saw those and I just had this idea and, this was stupid. I know. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you like this, I’m-”

“Dammit, Sam, would you be quiet for five seconds so I can talk? Just read this!” you grabbed your card and shoved it at him, barely being able to see where it should go through the tears in your eyes. You couldn’t stop crying.

You watched through blurry vision as he tore open the envelope and slipped the card out, waiting expectantly as he read the front then opened it. You could see exactly when he read your note. And exactly when he realized what it meant. Tears welled in his eyes as looked up at you, all trace of nervousness gone, replaced by awe and love. You nodded, neither of you able to speak, before he lunged forward almost violently, card still in hand as he grabbed your arms, pulling you into him tightly and crashing his lips into yours.

You stood that way for a seemingly endless amount of time, your hands gripping the box between you tightly, Sam’s fingers pressing into your forearms, both of you amazed that your lives were so fortunate.

The moment was perfect, even as you pulled apart and gazed into each other’s eyes, relishing the moment until Dean walked in, searching for dinner.

He looked at the both of you, tears stains on your cheeks and clutching each other almost desperately, and became confused.

“Did I miss something?”


End file.
